Thursday, September 10, 2009

You know the type. 50 years old, skinny, manicured, single, particular, outspoken...bitches. Their careers are definitely successful. They're usually VPs or CEOs of something. Usually have a wonderful house or apartment in the poshest of neighborhoods. They do not have animals that can't be left home alone for at least a week at a time because they travel so much (that is, unless the maid can feed the cat). In my experience, a lot of these women are very nice and personable when you first meet them. Sure, they're demanding, but they're used to getting their way, so we must recede and treat them in that way, for only God knows what would happen if someone stood up to them. These women probably knew their career path at 12, and lets face it, have all the right connections, because without connections there's not much upward mobility possible. They have everything. And of course Hollywood has shown us in multiple movies (Kate & Leopold, The Devil Wears Prada, etc), they have everything but love. Aw.

I recently spent some time working with a woman like this. When not talking about work, conversation went to her vacations on a yacht in Europe or returning home to her apartment in Soho. She was perfectly nice. She didn't listen to a word anyone else said, but she was smiling while interrupting. She flirted with every man in the room. She wore revealing clothing (if you could call revealing ribs and crocodile skin revealing). I didn't hate her, but was relieved when her high stress form whisped out of the room.

I am the opposite of this woman in many ways. I could tell you a few jobs I know I would find happiness and fulfillment in. I couldn't tell you how I intend to get those jobs. I don't have a plan, a career or even (sometimes, gasp!) goals. I'm not able to push everything to the side (even my happiness) for a job. Does the fact that I run around the job world like a chicken with my head cut off and have no idea how to market myself make me less of a person? No. I just know that success will never come to me in this form. It won't come from me farting around with art privately and not pursuing anything either. So. Crossroads? Are the only two choices bitch or pauper?

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

After a long day of travel, I arrived in sweaty Tampa. The sketchy motel I'm staying at is in St. Pete's Beach - what I naively thought was the same thing as St Petersburg...ends up the town is 20 miles away and I am without a vehicle... Still, could be worse. I was definitely tired and so I went to turn in early. I'm a little freaked out being on the ground floor of a motel so I didn't fall asleep right away. Around 10 pm I started hearing a cricket chirping. It was quiet at first, but then grew louder. I tried to drown it out. No dice. So I got up and stomped the hell out of the corner I could hear it in. It stopped. Crisis averted, back to bed. Light off, flip flops off, glasses off, vibrant floral pattern blanket on, sigh.....chirpchirpchirp....light on, blanket off, glasses on, flip flops on (who in their right mind would dare walk barefoot in this place, I don't know) over to the corner again. This time, my weapon was a DVD case. Slamming it against the wall, the carpet, every nook and cranny. Back to bed. Chirpchirpchirp. This went on until 1 am. I tried watching LOST to distract me and it worked for a while but I was exhausted. Finally my brilliant friend Tom suggested I cover the area with hairspray. That way, even if I missed the chirping bastard with my foot or DVD case, he'd hopefully be drowned in sticky alcohol spray. I tried it around 2 am. Silence. I finally fell asleep a while later. Silence. 5 am CHIRPCHIRPCHIRP. Obviously pissed off by earlier homicide attempts, cricket vengeance was strong. I put the pillow over my head and tried to go back to sleep. I was in and out and finally got up at 7 when my alarm went off. Light on. Silence. Right when I got up, he was silent as the dead cricket I had hoped he was.